


present wishes

by preromantics



Category: White Collar
Genre: Holidays, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:11:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Neal really has never been at a loss for what to get someone for Christmas, not with the way he learns to know people, their habits and likes and dislikes, even when he isn't trying to.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	present wishes

Neal really has never been at a loss for what to get someone for Christmas, not with the way he learns to know people, their habits and likes and dislikes, even when he isn't trying to. He stores the information away because he can and because it might be useful for any number of reasons, and not just for holiday shopping. 

This year, though, Neal almost feels off his game. He knows Peter better than anyone in his life, knows him in ways Peter probably doesn't even know himself, and now -- now Neal knows him down to his bones, each square inch of skin covering his body and it feels great to have that, finally, years of space and time and not-quite-right in between them and then. Everything.

Except he knows El now, too, in ways he never (dared to? hoped to?) think about before -- knows how she looks spread out under him on her and Peter's bed, soft, practical sheets one shade lighter than the color of the walls, her dark hair standing out against the matching pillowcases. Neal knows what it feels like to be inside her with Peter behind him, El's hands reaching up around Neal to Peter's shoulders to press him forward, deeper, holding him inside Neal for longer so he'll stay deep inside her. 

It's almost like he knows too much, sensory overload when he thinks of them all together, about how much he has now (and how much he has too loose, to keep safe) and right now, his eyes pressed shut against a flood of perfect memory stills of the night before, the tangle of limbs that had been the three of them, talking softly and wrapped up in the sheets -- well, now Neal is standing in the middle of his favorite decor shop within his radius in the city and he's still completely at a loss for what to get either of them. 

He'd gone out earlier in the afternoon to this store specifically, hoping something would catch his eye, knowing that whatever he got either of them didn't have to be expensive, it just had to be perfect. It had to mean something close to what both Peter and El had given him over the past few months, something wordless and amazing between them all. Nothing in the store works, though, and his ideas keep falling short. 

It takes him until the day before Christmas to settle on his gifts, packages tucked under his arm when he leaves June in the care of Mozzie for Christmas brunch the next day, heading over to Peter and El's right on time. 

He's almost pleased with his choices, though he can't help but wish he had  _more_  as he stands at the door, waiting (it's polite, though El always laughs at him if he just walks right in, like Peter hasn't known Neal has kept a key to the place for ages, maybe not even knowing that most of the time Neal will still wait to be invited in. As much as El and Peter are his, their home is not, not yet, maybe not --)

Peter opens it for him, nodding at him before he steps inside, closing the door behind him and then almost dropping his packages when Peter presses him up against the door, kissing him slick and rough for only a few seconds, and Neal almost drops his packages anyway just to drag Peter back up against him.

"Merry Christmas, Caffrey," Peter says, low and grinning just slightly, and Neal rolls his eyes and presses forward for another kiss, because he can.

He can hear El clear her throat from behind them, though, definitely amused, and Neal steps back and looks around Peter to see her, half in the living room next to the tree, barely wearing a dress at all, her hair down in waves against her shoulders. 

Neal sets his packages on the table by the couch, heading over to where she's standing, grinning wide at him. 

"You're gorgeous," Neal tells her, honest and maybe a little bit amazed, wrapping his arms low around her waist to pull her close and kiss her, too.

(Neal thinks of a Christmas years ago when he'd watched Peter at the office through a window across the street, alone in maybe the entire building, pouring over files about Neal himself, looking at the wall of pinned up information, head shots and sketches of Neal's face, like maybe they'd give him all the answers he needed, like that day would be different than all the rest.

He remembers wanting to shake Peter, a little, to tell him to go home to his wonderful wife, to not mess up his marriage because Neal just liked them together, so much, fully aware of how many boundaries he was crossing just by watching and thinking and appreciating El's part in Peter's life -- in the life of the man who wanted to catch him so badly he'd forgone Christmas day with the person who should matter to him most.

Neal, in a completely convoluted way, maybe fell for Peter a little then. But this -- this Christmas is so much better, so much more. This year Peter has El, like he should, and he's also caught Neal but, god, in a completely different and completely better way.)

Neal pulls back a little when he feels Peter press up behind him, one hand wrapping around his chest between Neal and El, running over the buttons under Neal's jacket. 

"Presents first," Neal says, though he only half-means it -- being in the middle of Peter and El usually takes priority over everything else. 

El shakes her head, making a noise in her throat. "No presents," she says, leaning back in for her mouth. 

Peter pulls him closer against his chest, Neal's back an easy, comfortable fit there. "You're our present," Peter says, low and hot in Neal's ear. 

El nods, dragging her lips over Neal's, taking his wrists in her own and pinning them to his sides. "And," she says, amused and something else, maybe a little breathless, "we get to unwrap you now." 

"I got you actual presents, you know," Neal says, though he's not exactly sure what he's protesting for -- maybe because of the time spent figuring out what to get them, or maybe because he's almost uncomfortable with being their present himself, after everything they've given him, with everything they are -- 

"You're better," El says, smiling softly at him. "The best present." 

"I don't come with a gift receipt," Neal says, after a second, grinning back just a little. El laughs, warm, and presses all the way against his chest as Neal dips a hand down the very low-cut back of her dress.

"Good," Peter says from behind him, his lips against the nape of Neal's neck, his hairline. "Because you're not going back."

It's -- Neal almost, almost moans at that, though he doesn't mean to. The way Peter says it, nearly bitten into Neal's skin, it's impossible to miss that it means more than just a metaphor about presents, or something like that, it means Peter is never going to let Neal escape, even once his four years are up. 

Neal thinks about the wrapped packages on the coffee table, one the original pair of handcuffs Peter had used on Neal, the day he'd finally caught up, and the other a picture of the three of them bent over a scrabble board at June's on one of her wide couches, taken from behind by Moz a month ago without any of them knowing. It was intimate, their heads all inclined together, shoulders touching, saying a million things at once but not saying anything at all, frozen in time. Neal had it framed and matted, small and nothing ostentatious, but he know El would appreciate having it all the same, and he knew she'd probably put it on the dresser across from their bed. He thinks about how maybe the three of them all together, in the living room with the curtains drawn in the middle of the day, the tree lights on, is the best gift, anyway. 

He thinks about them and grins between El and Peter, unsure of who's hands belong to who and unsure about where Peter starts and Neal ends and El starts at the end of it all, but not caring at all. 

"I promise," he says in response to Peter, somewhere into El's mouth, and it's belated and it's not really his promise to make, but he makes it anyway, promises to stay and never leave, never have to leave. 

Peter groans against his neck, turning him around, El's hands urging them together, one of them tangling in Neal's hair from behind, her chin hooking over his shoulder, and none of them need to say anything at all, because they know each other, and Neal, well -- Neal has never been more sure of anything else before.

  
  
  



End file.
